


Thing 1: Want

by Alethia



Series: Come to Pass [1]
Category: CSI: Miami
Genre: Episode Related, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-27
Updated: 2005-06-27
Packaged: 2018-01-14 12:48:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1267150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It only happened like this in his dreams. Or his nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thing 1: Want

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first in a series of what if's about the fallout of 3.24 "10-7." Each story follows the ep, but is also self-contained. They will make no sense if you haven’t seen “10-7.” Originally posted on LJ [here](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/141670.html).

Calleigh had been ignoring him for two days; not returning his calls, e-mails, instant messages, text messages, and refusing to answer her door. He stopped when he started seriously considering telegrams. Could you even send telegrams these days?

So of course Eric did the only sensible thing he could; he sat on her doormat, back to her door, banging his head against it every so often, and waited.

It didn’t take long to annoy her.

The door opened with a jerk and she just stood there looking down at him expectantly, like she knew what was coming and just wanted to get through it. It didn’t help that half of him felt bad about that while the other half wanted nothing less than to jump her then and there, especially for wearing those low-riding pajama pants and a tank top. She didn’t have to look so good when Eric wanted nothing more than to be concerned for her well-being.

Not a great start, really.

“Hey,” he said softly, wincing as he stood. Apparently he was getting older and couldn’t sit in one position for many straight hours anymore. That was depressing.

Theme of the day, then.

“What do you want, Eric?” Tired exasperation there. Okay, he may have overdone it with the fifty bajillion messages.

“I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine. Satisfied?”

“I wanted to know why you weren’t speaking to someone who was supposed to be your best friend. I wanted to know why you took your name off the rotation without a word of it to those around you. Think ‘fine’ is gonna cover all that?” It was somewhat of a surprise to realize he was angry, really angry. He’d spent so long being worried and walking on eggshells and wondering what was going on, that he hadn’t taken the time to register that niggling at the very bottom of it all.

Now that he had he wished he could put it back, cover it up, get rid of it.

But then he’d be doing what Calleigh always did, and he could see how it always affected her. So telling Calleigh about it was probably the better choice anyway.

She stayed silent for a bit, very obviously shocked at the outburst. In all the time he’d known her, he’d never spoken to her like that. Then again, she’d never _really_ ignored him before. He was always the one she talked to about this stuff.

“Not out here,” she muttered, jerking the door open wider and making room for him to go into her apartment. Yeah, threaten to cause a scene in front of the neighbors and she caved like little more than a deck of cards.

Have to keep up appearances; wouldn’t want anyone to know.

Eric shut the door behind him and crossed his arms over his chest, watching as Calleigh wandered around her living room, ignoring his presence.

“So what, you’re leaving?” he finally asked, angry _and_ annoyed.

She whirled on him, shockingly fast, loose hair trailing behind her in a distracting arc, glaring. “Yes. I’m leaving.”

It was like a blow to the solar plexus; it left him reeling, unable to breathe, so incomprehensible as to be almost a foreign language.

But oh, how he understood.

“Just like that?” he asked weakly, seriously considering finding a chair to sit in. Or just collapsing onto the floor. But that wouldn’t look good and maybe Calleigh was rubbing off on him just a little bit because he didn’t want her thinking he couldn’t handle it.

Even when he couldn’t.

“Just like that,” she said firmly, no give there, nothing at all, even though Eric could see the pain clearly twisting just underneath the surface. It had gotten to her—of course it had—and she was determined. He knew her that well, at least.

It felt like someone had sucked out all the air from the room and Eric was left to survive in it, expected to, and he was failing miserably at it.

“Where will you go?” he finally choked out, getting enough breath for that inanity.

She shrugged elegantly, delicately, and turned again, looking out her window at the fading sunlight. Framed against the window, against the blue sky and still-bright sunshine, she was all golden and glowing and the thought seriously crossed his mind that this might be the last time he’d ever see her like that, standing in front of that window, sun spilling over her shoulders and shading her hair into millions of strands of shifting shine.

He sucked in a breath finally and was there, hand on her shoulder, feeling the warmth underneath his hand and shining onto it, squeezing a reassurance he didn’t feel.

Calleigh turned, light flitting across her face until it was no more, now backlighting her with a halo effect that was truly breathtaking. He trailed his fingers across her hair—it was down, another oddity—sinking his fingers into the warmth there, curling around.

She tipped her head back, letting his fingers trail down her neck, shoulders relaxing, tension finally leave her. “I’m not coming back,” she whispered, rolling her neck as his fingers made it back there, digging in and massaging.

“Whatever you say,” he answered lowly, serious.

She nodded once and grabbed his shirt, hauling him in. “No harm, then,” she said, trying to be flippant and failing miserably. She never could face what was between them, still couldn’t, but apparently that didn’t mean she was against trying.

His brave girl. If only she would believe as much.

Eric refused to say anything, waiting for it, for her. Had been waiting for her for far too long.

Calleigh nodded and pulled him down to her, still holding his shirt, taking his lips with force he never knew she had, passion she never showed she could feel.

Eric’s fingers twisted again in her hair, curling around the back of her head and angling her better, pulling her against him until she was pressed up in all the right ways. 

She made a half moan into his mouth and suddenly he was tasting her, really tasting her for the first time and he just wanted to fall to his knees and thank God.

She shifted against him and he flicked his tongue out ever so gently, slowly sliding across her bottom lip, exploring just a little. Calleigh sighed and repaid him in kind, tugging gently with mischievous teeth. Eric laughed this time, tilting her head again and diving in, tongue, teeth, all of it, mapping her mouth, heat bleeding between them, too good to be real. It made him want to pinch himself, but then he wouldn’t be running hands all over her, from hair to chin to neck, all the way down lean lines to hips that were nestled so perfectly against his.

At his touch there Calleigh pulled away, biting smile, and _pushed_ , pushed him back toward what he knew was the bedroom and where he’d never been. In so many ways.

He distracted himself from that frankly daunting thought by stealing kisses and biting her ear, scraping teeth down neck and slipping hands sneakily under loose clothing. She wasn’t helping matters, laughing at him and twisting against him, arching for more.

He could do that.

Eric had no idea how they’d made it to the bedroom. All he knew was that Calleigh was losing clothing and he didn’t want to miss a minute of it. Especially because it wouldn’t last.

“Nice bedroom,” he said slyly, tickling a hand up her back, shirt lost somewhere on their journey.

“You didn’t even look.” Breathless and scratching well-manicured nails across his now bare chest, still moving them toward the bed.

“Well, you don’t have to get technical about it,” he pouted, garnering a genuine smile and a teasingly arched eyebrow.

“You’re taking this surprisingly well,” she said factually, as if they were discussing this rationally over tea and crumpets and she weren’t unbuttoning his pants with too much ease, just disconcerting _enough_. Because _yeah_ , pretty much anyone doing that was gonna get some leeway from him.

Eric gritted his teeth and tried not to think too much about the future. Live in the moment, and all that crap, because tomorrow’s gonna _suck_. “You’re special,” he grunted, thanking somebody when he found the bed behind him because there was no way he was staying vertical with Calleigh Duquesne’s hand in his pants. 

“Very, very special,” she agreed, grinning before straddling him and leaning down to lick at his bottom lip, blonde hair falling softly over his shoulders, the combination of sensations making him shiver with want.

And her hand was still exploring.

“Mmm, somebody’s eager,” she said lowly, curling her hand around him, already ridiculously hard.

“Years,” he muttered. “Somebody’s been waiting for _years_.” And he grunted when she squeezed—God that was good—mind losing his train of thought entirely.

“Well, wouldn’t want to keep you waiting.”

Waiting—with a gasp his hips surged into her fist, following her up and wanting more, more skin, more sweat, more of this, more of her.

Eric gritted his teeth and forced himself to slow, to not look like such a horny high school kid during his _one_ encounter with the girl he’d been pining over for the last few years. “Always…so…polite,” he ground out, his loosened but not lost pants starting to irritate and constrict his movements. Should have taken them off before sitting down, not that he’d been thinking very clearly. Dammit.

Calleigh just hmmmed and found his mouth again, lapping contentedly as her hand did wonderful, masterful, probably-illegal-in-at-least-twenty-states things. Eric could get lost in her, he knew he could. Not that he would have the chance.

And he was seriously going to lose control if she didn’t stop it.

Getting a grip on her grip took more self-control than he’d known he possessed. And he still was only half-convinced it was necessary—the important half vehemently disagreeing—but his goal was to be _inside_ Calleigh sometime tonight, and that really wasn’t gonna happen with her pace. 

And he really shouldn’t let her have control like this. Because then she’d think it was all okay, then she’d think she _won_. And he’d be damned if he’d let her go that easily.

With that in mind, he flipped her. Easily, quickly, and she obviously wasn’t expecting that. The little gasp into his mouth told him as much and he pulled back, grinned crookedly at her, and dove in again, tongue sliding against hers in the best way, hands slipping across her skin, making her wriggle delightfully.

Her hair already had that just-fucked look and some quick tugging and helpful squirming on her part had her pants tossed away and forgotten and then it was just Calleigh. In her underwear. Underneath him.

That was enough to make his brain go full-stop on him.

A suggestive roll of her hips, a quirked eyebrow, and that was enough to bring him back. Eric leaned in again, slipping hands over newly-exposed skin, down to where she was still covered, pressing his fingers against already wet, warm fabric, a catch in her breathing enough of an answer for him.

Hooking his fingers and _tugging_ was far less dramatic than he’d expected, especially when he’d always thought he, Calleigh, and the removal of underwear would have to be accompanied by grand pianos, symphonies, some kind of angelic soundtrack to complete the moment.

But that only happened on TV.

Actually, this could never even get on TV and wow, what a totally irrelevant thought.

Calleigh raised another eyebrow at him and oh, yeah, grinning like a man fulfilling his fondest sexual fantasy probably wasn’t the most attractive thing he could be doing.

“What?” she asked, almost reaching suspicion. For Calleigh, anyway.

Eric grinned again. “I was just thinking about how many of my sexual fantasies you’re completing here,” he joked lightly, running fingers up the insides of her thighs.

He’d expected a laugh and another sexy wiggle; he was wrong. The corners of her mouth turned down and that fleeting sadness entered her eyes again. But she recovered quickly, pulling him back down for a kiss, but it was too late. Eric saw these things and a dull throb sliced through him.

Oh, way to ruin a moment,

Because, yeah, she was fucking _leaving_. And there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

He kissed her again, deeper this time, pouring want and heat and passion into it, feeling it as she trembled beneath him and gave back just as much.

Little consolation, that.

Before he was even conscious of it, her bra was gone and he’d lost the pants and boxers, finally naked with Calleigh and doing things and damn if he couldn’t even totally enjoy it. Because that knowledge was always at the back of his mind.

Eric finished with her mouth, releasing her on a gasp, sucking kisses down her chin, throat, too harsh, a little voice insisted, seeing the irritated skin he left behind. But Calleigh wasn’t complaining and Eric couldn’t help himself.

Down, down, between breasts he’d explored with fingers, across her flat stomach to equally flat belly, spreading her legs without thought and slipping fingers easily into her, sliding in and out as she spread her legs wider, tried to thrust down, generally frustrated but _wanting_.

He had time to toss a less teasing, more sad smile her way before ducking down, following fingers with tongue and licking _up_ , finding jus the right spot and enjoying the soft “oh!” that resulted.

Yes, years of experience had made him _good_ , useful for something, then.

The next circuit had her grabbing his head, one hand bunched in the comforter and grinding the hell out of it, much like her hips grinding into him, trying to get closer, make him go faster.

Eric relented, picking up the pace and licking around and around, never getting too close, but close enough for her to feel it, maddening, or so he’d been told, fingers always working her, pushing her higher. So much so that when he did finally relent and flick his tongue where she wanted it, it was enough to set her off, muscles clenching ever-so tightly, small cry torn from her lips. Eric swiped his tongue over and over again, almost too much stimulation where once there wasn’t enough.

Slack legs and muscles and he kept his fingers inside her as she settled down, kissing the inside of her thigh and distracting himself from the way his cock pressed insistently against the mattress, letting him know he’d been waiting for, oh, five years and it was getting a little impatient.

He kissed his way back up her body, following the trail he’d left on the way down, and she turned glazed eyes on him when he came to eye-level.

He couldn’t help it; he laughed.

“Enjoy yourself?” he asked, cocky and cheeky and playfully arrogant, generally everything he liked best about himself when he was with her.

She’d recovered enough to roll her eyes at him, but aborted the movement on a gasp when he crooked two fingers—still inside her—and _slid_.

“Not fair,” she mumbled, already trying to get more of him, totally useless considering the hand he had on her hip.

“Who said I was playing fair?” he asked, and boy did he _mean_ that, twisting his fingers now and watching as her eyes closed.

Oh yeah, so time to get to the good part.

Eric pulled his hand away and took a wild shot in the dark, reaching for her bedside drawer, coming up with a useful little foil packet and a mischievous grin. “Always be prepared?” he asked.

“I was never in the boy scouts,” she shot back, smiling a little.

“I would hope not. Then we’d have a bit more to talk about,” he said dryly, opening said packet automatically and using it with as much ease.

She didn’t comment, but he could see the desire to. Yeah, yeah he used to be a slut; alert the news media. He’d moved past that, ready to commit to something now. Behind her knee-jerk desire to bring up his wild days, he could see the littlest hint of dismay; she knew it, too.

Eric trailed fingers through her hair, fanned out behind her on the bed, and smiled, other hand pushing legs apart again, smiling in earnest when they fell open easily, eagerly.

It was with sadly little fanfare that he oriented himself and slid _in_ , all wet heat and silken caress and Eric stopped after the first full thrust, only distantly hearing her gasp, too focused on what he was feeling. Not that different from all the others and yet very much so. Because when he opened his eyes he saw Calleigh and when he thrust again, it was his name on Calleigh lips, and when he opened his mouth her name slipped out and that was _okay_ because this time it was _right_.

Slow, lazy thrusts and God, he never wanted this to end. Wanted it to stretch into infinity, Calleigh under him, twisting against him and clutching at his back, his name on her lips, his tongue tasting hers, her skin, her sweat, siding smoothly in and out, getting a rhythm together guaranteed to drive her crazy.

Make her want to stay.

Eric shifted his weight to his forearm and got a hand on one of her thighs, pushing it up and slightly changing his angle, and Calleigh went _nuts_ , not even bothering to muffle a moan and arching her neck, tossing her head back, muscles seizing up in the best kind of way, gripping around him as she came again.

He clenched his jaw and sped up his thrusts, prolonging it and at the same time feeling his control start to slip, aware that his technique had gone all to hell, not that he cared, a few more thrusts into that unbelievable heat and he was _done_ , gone, flying somewhere amazing and he knew he should breathe but any interference would totally ruin the perfection of the moment, the mind-numbing pleasure that shivered all over.

But, like everything good, it had to end sometime.

He came back on a gasp, back to a panting Calleigh, tired muscles, and the realities of after-sex protocol. But not even that could damp down on the euphoria of the moment.

Calleigh panted loudly, trying to catch a breath that had tripped away somewhere, cackling evilly, and he groaned at the sight of her glazed look, the color high in her cheeks and hair all a mess. This was _truly_ a well-fucked look. And _he’d_ put it there.

It was enough to get a twinge already, pleasure too soon, painful. But that was Calleigh for you, wrapped up in a nutshell and tied neatly with a bow.

She had a hand pressing weakly against his chest, as if to push him away when she really didn’t want to.

“I’m not coming back,” she said, voice as weak as her hand, but an underlying steel that made his heart twinge painfully.

He made a noncommittal noise, nuzzling her neck and running his fingers over sweaty skin, smelling the two of them together. If she wasn’t coming back at least he’d have this, this memory of pleasure shared, this acknowledgement that years of fantasies hadn’t been one-sided and unrequited like he’d feared for so long.

And he wanted more, more of a chance to explore this, more intimacy, more opportunities to make her _want_ to stay.

But Calleigh wasn’t coming back.

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


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